A Raw deal
by dinofossil
Summary: Warning contains spanking so if this is likely to offend please do not read. Dean gets himself into trouble hustling a game of poker, and has to rely on his dad to save him.


Title: A raw deal by Dinofossil

Supernatural belongs to the CW not me, and I am not making any money from this.

I would hate to offend anyone, so please be warned that this is a spanking story. If this is likely to offend you please do not proceed, particularly if I have a treasured or favourite character (John/Dean Winchester).

I am in the middle of a move to the other side of the country to start a new job, and am currently living in a rental with no internet, so my postings are a bit sporadic. I think I have finally found my new permanent home, so hopefully things will be back to normal in the next two months. Anyway, distracted as I am, this probably may contain loads of errors.

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John Winchester pressed his foot down hard to the floor of the Impala coaxing her to go faster with the promise of more gas. Uncomfortably aware he was exceeding the speed limit, he warily scanned the darkness that spread from the car for signs of the police. Every second counted, and he couldn't afford to waste precious time being pulled up for speeding.

Entering the outskirts of the town, he relaxed his tight bloodless fingers from their painful grip on the wheel, and took a few deep breaths to try and calm the overwhelming feeling of panic churning away inside him. With his emotions under slightly better control, he managed to slow to an easier pace for scanning the shadowy buildings lining each side of the poorly lit road. As he turned into the main street, the cramped buildings grew more evenly spaced, and he instantly recognised the unmistakable lights and activity of a rough looking bar a short distance ahead.

Within seconds he brought the car to a messy halt just outside the front entrance, and ran into the dim smoked filled room. Forcing himself to remain still to assess the unfamiliar surroundings, he skimmed his eyes rapidly around the four corners of the shabby interior, until they naturally stopped at a huddle of three men hovering suspiciously outside the door to the men's restroom. The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly prickled and raised, and he felt his mouth form into an involuntary snarl as he moved towards them.

Standing behind the small group, he folded his arms and staged a loud cough to get their attention. "That's my son in there," he growled angrily. One-by-one the men slowly turned to face him, the confidence visibly sliding off their faces as they raised their heads to meet the threat before them. The last time this level of raw emotion had been seen was in a documentary entitled 'when animals attack', showing violent graphic footage of a grizzly protecting its cub.

The ring leader gulped uneasily and brushed away little beads of sweat spontaneously erupting on his brow. Nervously he admitted they'd been playing poker with the boy, _and yeah_, at first they thought him an easy target, but they soon realised they'd been duped when he'd started winning every hand. The man shifted unhappily under John's intense stare, his voice shrivelling to a whisper as he confessed they'd turned on him, first to demand their money back, but when this hadn't worked, they'd resorted to physical threats. He looked up with a little hope in his eyes as he explained that the kid had managed to get away and taken refuge in the restroom before any serious harm had been done.

John wrestled with conflicting emotions as he listened with growing anger. Although he desperately wanted to teach these bullies a lesson, he didn't want to start a brawl which might end in the police being called, and the need to check on his son was strongly pulling him down a different path. Dismissing the relieved men with a rough push and grunted warning, he knocked repeatedly on the locked door. "C'mon Dean, I'm here now, open the door, son".

He heard the bolt sliding back, and the door cautiously opened to reveal a tuft of familiar hair and two wary eyes, one showing the early signs of a bruise. Sucking in air, John grabbed the bottom of Dean's chin and held it steady so that he could get a better look at his face in the dim light. "Sporting a nice black-eye there," he finally managed, trying to hide his concern behind an unconvincing smile.

Looking into his dad's eyes, Dean nodded. "I'm sorry for calling you, dad, but I didn't know what else to do. I coulda taken one, maybe two of them, but there were three you know. We can take em now you're here can't we, dad?"

Putting an arm around Dean's shoulders, John steered him forcibly into the main bar, dismissing his argument to stay and fight. "No, I think we've both had enough excitement for one night. Let's just get you home".

They arrived back at their rental to find Sam wearing away the beginnings of a trench outside the door as he impatiently paced waiting for their return. As soon as the car stopped, he rushed over and immediately started to lecture a surprised Dean about how stupid he'd been; only his young voice couldn't quite deliver the level of gravity intended, and he only succeeded in squeaking at his older brother.

"Kinda whiney there, Sammy, you sound like a chipmunk. Have you been sucking on helium again?"

"ENOUGH." Slamming the car door shut with a loud bang, John let his displeasure known. "Dean, leave your brother alone, he's just worried about you, and Sam, leave the lecturing to the expert. I want you both indoors now."

Once inside, Sam returned to the table to continue with his abandoned homework, while John stood with his hands on his hips shaking his head in disbelief at his eldest son. Dean usually had the decency to look sorry when he was in trouble, but the sight before John right now was pure undiluted defiance.

Friends had warned him that teenagers liked to push boundaries, and Dean was certainly fine-tuning that skill with honours. From his first experimental nudge at the age of twelve, he'd rapidly moved on to bigger and greater things, and now at the age of damn well know-it-all, he was pushing whole continents with attitude.

Still angry at being denied his chance for revenge back at the bar, his son stood squared-up to him, moodiness written in capitals across his face, and unable to contain himself, he complained loudly to his dad for leaving the bar instead of going after his attackers.

Although annoyed at having his judgement questioned, John tried to reason with him. "I didn't want to start a fight in case the police were called. Have you any idea what it's like to be arrested?"

Dean immediately turned on him, his lips curling into a sarcastic sneer. "No, dad, why don't _you_ tell me?"

John almost smiled; he really should've seen that one coming. "You'd better watch your mouth; I'm not used to being insulted."

Unable to remain still, Dean hopped from one foot to the other, fidgeting so fast that he almost appeared to be vibrating. "Yeah…? Well you'll soon get used to it …bossy," he quickly sniped back.

"Son, is your tongue afraid of the dark? Only for some reason you can't seem to keep your mouth shut." John refused to get angry, knowing Dean was only smart mouthing him because he was still pumped up with adrenalin from his recent scare. What he needed right now was time to cool off.

"Okay, Dean, that comment just earned you a spell of corner time, get your nose up against the wall now."

Dean stood with his arms defensively folded across his chest, stubbornness flaring in his eyes. "Awe c'mon, dad, it's not fair, I'm not some stupid kid anymore. You can't make me."

John dug deep to come up with a look that would halt a rampant poltergeist, and tailed it off with a stern warning. "I've given you an order. Do you really want me to add disobeying it to the long list of things I will be discussing with you later?"

Shrugging his shoulders as nonchalantly as he could, Dean forced out a begrudging "No sir," and reluctantly dragged his feet over to the corner of the room, positioning himself deliberately close enough to escape his dad's wrath, but rebelliously far enough away to allow himself a small smirk of satisfaction.

John shook his head at the little act of rebellion, but let it slip, and instead turned his attention to Sam, who had been sitting quietly absorbing his brother's rants with huge shocked eyes that almost filled his face.

"What big eyes you've got Grandma," John mocked, but then remembering how scared his youngest had been when Dean had first called for help, he smiled and softly ruffled his hair. "Did you finish your homework, sport?"

Fighting his curiosity, Sam eventually wrestled his eyes away from Dean and nodded. "Yes sir."

"Okay then, time you were in bed, off you go." Sam hovered, reluctant to leave his brother, but found himself being lifted from his chair and forced on his way with a gentle push of encouragement. With a sorrowful shake of his head, and final look of pity towards his brother, he slowly left the room.

John could still feel the tension radiating from Dean as he continued to angrily smoulder away in the corner. Deciding to leave him a little longer, he poured himself a much needed coffee, and sat wearily at the dining table.

Slowly sipping the hot liquid, he stared at Dean with a mixture of pride and annoyance, a look that would easily be recognisable to any long suffering parent of a teen. The boy was growing fast, and between the ages of thirteen and seventeen there had been major changes, the most notable being that John himself had aged at least twenty years.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a long irritated bleat from the corner of the room.

"Dad, pleee-ase, I've been in the corner so long my forehead is starting to grow into a freakin triangle, please can I come out?" Dean clearly felt he'd had long enough of staring at the same square inch of wall.

John's forehead wrinkled into a deep frown. "What are the rules for corner time?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Keep quiet, don't move, and get so bored you're just about ready to pull your own teeth out for something to do." Dean suggested huffily, lightly kicking the wall with his foot.

"_Right! _So unless you want me to re-set the clock, you'd best keep quiet. Understand?" John waited for an agreement, and was satisfied when he received a silent nod.

He took his time over the remainder of his coffee, and after twenty minutes saw the change in Dean he'd been waiting for. His anger had obviously been overtaken by feelings of boredom, and he now stood slowly rocking on his heels, occupying himself by tracing a crack down the wall with his fingers.

Even as he had been driving to the bar, John had already decided that he was going to blister his son's backside for him. Dean had acted with a complete disregard for his own safety, and John needed to be sure he did all he could to try and stop him from doing anything like it again.

Throwing down the last of his coffee, he rose and left the room, returning a few moments later suitably equipped with an old wooden hairbrush that he had been keeping just in case.

He wandered over to Dean, and stood behind him. "Are you ready to be civil to me yet?" he asked sharply.

Dean was barely seconds away from repeatedly banging his head against the wall to relieve his boredom and frustration, and he nodded furiously. "Oh, God, yes sir." Mistaking his dad's question as his '_get out of jail free card_', he turned ready to release himself, but was stopped in his tracks by a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Not yet, Dean, I want your full attention first." John began to lecture the back of Dean's head. "I distinctly warned you about hustling poker games on your own. Things always get nasty where money is involved, and you haven't got the strength, and you clearly lack the good judgement to keep yourself out of trouble. What you did was completely reckless, and now you're going to be punished for disobeying me and putting yourself in danger."

During his corner time, Dean had worked out for himself that this was coming. Truth be told, the fight had shaken him badly, and he would never forget his feelings of total desperation as he barricaded himself in the locked bathroom and made the frantic call for help. The consequences of his dad not picking up, or being too far away to reach him in time had not escaped him, and he realised his dad was right.

John moved over to the table, and positioned his chair to face the centre of the room before sitting down. "Right, Dean, get over here."

Even though he knew he deserved to be punished, Dean wasn't about to give in without some form of protest.

"Dad, please, you can't spank me, _I'm nearly eighteen_," then, catching sight of the wooden hairbrush on the table, his eyes went wide. "Dad, ple-ease, you can't spank me with that, _I'm only seventeen_."

"I'm not going to tell you again, OVER HERE NOW."

The raised voice had the desired effect, as Dean sensibly decided that now was probably not the best time to be antagonising his dad any further.

The drill was already well rehearsed in his mind, and so reaching his dads side, he automatically dropped his jeans to his knees without being told. Responding to a grim nod from John, he draped himself awkwardly over his lap, placing the tips of his outstretched hands on the floor to balance himself.

Seeing no point in prolonging the ordeal, John securely wrapped his free arm around his son's waist, and swept his briefs down, before rhythmically smacking the upturned cheeks several times. "Right, you can start by telling me why you're being punished?"

Dean's voice came out in hurried short breaths that faltered as each slap made contact. "Because I went and hustled a poker game." He paused for another breath as he felt the force and speed of the slaps increasing.

"Not quite, want to try again?" John laid three hard slaps to the tender under curves of each cheek.

"Umm…, I got into trouble, but it was just bad luck this time. You can't know that every time I play poker it's going to be dangerous."

"That's right, Son, I'm not young enough to know everything like you." Annoyed by the response, John felt it was time to turn up the heat. He stopped and reached for the hairbrush, feeling Dean tense with anticipation beneath him.

He brought the brush down with a loud crack, and almost immediately Dean started squirming uncomfortably as John moved down from the top of his cheeks to his thighs and back again, turning the area deep red.

"This should concentrate your mind a little better, now what did you do wrong?"

"Oww…, Okay, you told me not to hustle poker, crap that hurts…, on my own, and I disobeyed youoww and I'm sorry, umm…, I put myself in danger, Nooo p-please dad, did I already say I d-disobeyed you? It'll never happen again, I promise."

John was almost finished. Leaning over to his son's ear, he quietly spoke to him. "Do you have any idea what you put me through this evening? Can you imagine how I felt getting your call? _Please_, don't ever do that to me again." He laid a final five swats direct to Dean's sit spot, and felt him sob as he washed the tension and guilt of the evening away with his tears.

John left him to cry for a few extra minutes, gently rubbing his back and squeezing his shoulders for comfort, while softly murmuring soothing words of reassurance and encouragement. When the crying stopped, he helped Dean up, and waited for him to pull his jeans back into place.

Rising from his chair, John fought the urge to give him a hug knowing that he probably wouldn't appreciate it like his youngest would have, but one look at the tear streaked face caused his resolve to crumble, and he threw his arms wide. "Hug?" he invited.

Using the cuff of his shirt, Dean wiped away the last of his tears and sniffed loudly. "Nah, dad, its okay, I think I'll pass."

John gave a small guilty smile. "You might not want one, but I do," he admitted. Before his son had time to object, he took a step forward and circled his arms tightly around him, squeezing his breath out in a huge bear hug.

For a few seconds Dean remained rigid in his arms, and then gradually his body softened as he moulded himself to his dad to accept the embrace. "I'm sorry I was so stupid," he whispered, resting his head on John's large shoulder.

John cupped Dean's head in his hands and stared seriously into his eyes. "Don't ever say you're stupid. Sometimes you make unwise choices that get you into trouble, but hopefully you'll learn from them. So, promise me, no more solo poker games until you're old enough to take care of yourself."

Dean looked at him with a watery smile. "Yessir, it's a deal."

_**The**__** End**_


End file.
